Friday, August 17, 2012

the weather, man.


A new BGSK farmer's market post!  Brooklyn Borough Hall and fried green tomatoes, one thing that's a good place to visit and one thing that's a good thing to eat.  Peep that sheet, yo.

Thursday, August 16, 2012

but my own.

Have you heard this song before?

I saw The Lumineers perform it in Central Park last week and had a little bit of a moment.
I was like THIS IS A GREAT SONG!
And then I was like, This is my song.
This is a song about ME.


And then I thought about it,
and I was like,

Nope.


The lyrics of this song are, "I ain't nobody's problem but my own."
And I am a number of people's problem, I think.

I have created some problems for people, in my time.  Problematic.

If I am your problem: I am very sorry.
Let's listen to The Lumineers and forget about it.

Friday, August 10, 2012

nuggets.



A Collection of Thoughts Triggered By My Current Lifestyle

There are a number of calories in a Viand black & white milkshake and that number is not insignificant.  If you discover said number and then tell it to me, I will be forced to Facebook unfriend you because you will have ruined my life.

Sometimes you take the subway somewhere, and then try to take it home post-midnight, only to discover that with the dawning of a new day your monthly pass has run its course.  This is the most depressing of all surprises.

It is on the day that your sock bun rivals the Winehouse beehive in size and scope that a woman in your office will stop you on your way to your desk in the morning to tell you that you look really pretty.  Attempt to not gawk at her in disbelief.

Sometimes you eat a salad which the menu said included fish, and you can't find the fish, but you do really love the little fried crunchy things that are all over the top of it.  And then your friend picks a fried crunchy thing up between two fingers to inspect it, and the fried crunchy thing has eyes.  Also known as: The Time You Ate a School of Fish.

The people who have really fabulous manicures all of the time are not doing nearly enough living, which is something I tell myself to quell the jealousy.

If liking a Negroni makes you a New York City adult, I am a California six-year-old because that shit is gross.